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Chapter 101

The Hall of Prophecies is dark, the dim light casting eerie shadows that flicker and twist along the rows of glass orbs. The air is thick with anticipation, the kind that gnaws at the edges of your nerves, making every breath seem too loud, every movement too slow.

You and your fellow Death Eaters—Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, and others—stand hidden among the towering shelves, your black cloaks blending seamlessly into the darkness, your masks concealing your identities and your intentions.

The objective is clear: retrieve the prophecy that Harry Potter is destined to find and return it to Voldemort. No matter the cost.

Lucius had led you all through a secret passage he knew well, a clandestine route that brought you straight into the heart of the Ministry of Magic, unseen and unheard. Now, you wait, every muscle tensed, as the minutes tick by in agonizing silence. The Hall is a maze of mysteries, and your target is a mere boy—yet the importance of this mission weighs heavily on each of you.

Finally, you hear it. Footsteps, hesitant and unsure, echoing off the cold stone floors. The intruders, or rather, the intended victims, have arrived. 

Harry Potter, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood make their way into the Hall, their expressions a mixture of determination and fear. They are searching, desperately looking for someone who isn't there—Sirius Black, lured by the false vision Voldemort has implanted in Harry's mind.

Your breath hitches as you see Harry's eyes lock onto a single glowing orb among the endless rows of prophecies. He moves toward it, drawn like a moth to a flame. This is it—the prophecy Voldemort wants, the prophecy that could seal Harry's fate.

Lucius steps forward first, his movements fluid and purposeful. The sound of his footsteps echoes in the vast chamber, drawing the attention of the young Gryffindors. Harry turns, his wand already raised, his face a mask of defiance.

"Where is Sirius?" Harry demands, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

Lucius doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he raises his wand and, with a quick flick, removes his mask, revealing his aristocratic features, sharp and cold in the low light. His eyes gleam with a mixture of condescension and dark amusement as he regards Harry.

"You really should learn the difference between dreams and reality," Lucius says smoothly, his voice carrying an air of superiority that grates on the nerves. "You saw only what the Dark Lord wanted you to see. Now, hand me the prophecy."

Harry's grip on the glowing orb tightens, his knuckles white. "If you do anything to us, I'll break it," he threatens, his voice firm but betraying the fear beneath.

You step forward from the shadows, ready to add your voice to the demand, but before you can speak, a high, maniacal laugh rings out, echoing through the Hall like the toll of a death knell. Bellatrix Lestrange emerges from the darkness, her eyes gleaming with madness, her lips curled into a cruel smile.

"He knows how to play, itty-bitty baby Potter," she taunts, her voice laced with malicious glee. The tension in the room spikes, the air crackling with the impending clash.

Neville Longbottom steps forward, his face set with a grim determination that surprises you. His wand is steady in his hand as he levels it at Bellatrix, the hatred in his eyes burning like a fire that has been stoked for far too long.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he says, his voice hard, a stark contrast to the timid boy you once knew.

"How's mum and dad?" she giggles maniacally with her rotten teeth on full display and her eyes wide.

Bellatrix's response is a twisted, maniacal giggle, her rotten teeth bared in a grin that sends a shiver down your spine. Her eyes, wild and gleaming with malice, fixate on Neville with a look that promises nothing but torment.